Deathless
 
By
 
Jeremy Harper
 
Note – The Astonishing X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are  
used without permission. 
 

Chapter 4 – War In San Francisco
 

"All right, here's what I've found out," said Hank. It was early  
evening in the day after the fight with Nikolai Black Sun. Dinner had just  
finished up and Scott's team had commandeered the den for some  
brainstorming. Scott and Emma had taken the couch and Hank was again  
perched on top of his chair. Kitty sat on the edge of a chair opposite of  
the 
couch, drumming her fingers against her leg. Logan leaned against his  
usual spot on the wall, a bottle of Sam Adams in his hand. He was looking  
at Hank, eyebrow arched. 
 
 "Don't you ever sit like a normal person, Hank?" 
 
 Hank flashed a toothy grin. "Normality is badly overrated, chum."  
He adjusted his reading glasses and scanned the printout he held in his  
oversized paw. "According the NYPD report, several pieces of artwork  
were damaged during the incident. Seems that our friends blew a hole  
through the Met's roof and the resulting debris hit some of the exhibits.  
The Metal Bird was spotted egressing the Met via said hole and flying off  
east, in the company of a rather large raven."
 
 "So that's where that thing went," muttered Scott. "I had wondered  
where it got to."
 
 "We should be grateful that it hadn't stayed," said Hank. "The  
goop it spits is a powerful contact hallucinogenic. Makes a bad LSD trip  
seem like a pleasant summer daydream. Some of those police officers he  
sprayed are going to be in psych wards for a long time." Hank frowned  
and shook his head. "Peter and the two goombas with him were bad 
enough.  If Metal Bird had been there with them, we may not have walked 
away… Anyway,  Met and insurance representatives have made their 
initial inventory, and the  only thing definitively missing is a 14th century 
Russian religious icon –  it's basically a painting on a square of wood. This 
one depicted Saul  meeting with the Witch of Endor, and was part of an 
exhibit on loan from the  Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow."
 
 "Anything special about this particular icon, Hank?" Scott  asked.
 
 "Only that it was in unusually good shape. Most Russian icons that  
old were severely damaged when the Russian Orthodox clergy went on a  
bourgeois kick sometime after Peter the Great's death. They started  
plating everything in their churches with gold, and it played havoc on the  
icons. Somehow the Saul icon must have been spared, since it was pretty  
vivid for something painted seven or so centuries ago. But even so, there  
were at least eight or ten other icons in equally good condition at the Met  
exhibit." 
 
 "What about it's history. Anything strange there?"
 
 "Not that I can tell. It was bequeathed to the Pushkin Museum,  
along with several other objects d'art, from the will of an art dealer out  
of 
France – one Fyodor Dobrynski. Dobrynski was the son of Russian nobles  
who managed to flee the Bolshevik Revolution. Ole Fyodor specialized in  
handling Russian art. Thousands of pieces passed through his possession  
during his life – icons, paintings, sculptures, lacquer art… hell, he even  
had a few of the lesser Faberge eggs at one time. It'll be a mare's nest  
trying to find out where he got one particular icon. I was lucky enough as  
it is to track his name down."   
 
 Scott let out a gust of breath. "See what you can find Hank. I don't  
expect miracles, just give it a try." He looked at Kitty. "Logan mentioned  
you were looking into something about Peter's henchmen."
 
 Kitty nodded. "Yeah… When we got back and I had… calmed 
down a  bit, their names started to feel familiar. I couldn't place them, 
though, so  after I cleaned up from the fight I did a search on the 'Net to 
see if I  could find anything that jogged my memory." Kitty glanced 
around at her  teammates. "Solovey and Myedvyed Tsar, those names are 
from Russian  legends."
 
 No one said anything for a moment. Everyone looked at Kitty; she  
was staring down at her hands, folded tightly together in her lap.  
"Myedvyed Tsar is Russian for 'Bear King'. He's one of the Beast Tsars,  
and is the ruler of all the bears of Russia. According to the stories I've  
read, he's a nasty, dangerous cantankerous brute."
 
 Hank made a face and rubbed the side of his jaw. "Yup, sounds  
like our Smokey the Bear. Got into an absolute snit just because I punched  
him in the throat."
 
 Kitty snorted. "That does tend to make one testy. The other  
henchman – Solovey – I found his name in an archive of the _Byliny_."
 
 Emma Frost's flawless brow furrowed slightly. "What is the  
_Byliny_?"
 
 "They're a cycle of heroic legends and songs, detailing the great  
deeds of the _Bogatyrs_ – mighty heroes of antiquity. It's sorta the Russian  
equivalent of the Knights of the Round Table." Kitty's lips curved into a  
small smile and her eyes became wistful. "Peter use to tell Illyana stories  
from the _Byliny_ for bedtime. Even when she was older, she'd love hearing  
them. During the winter Peter would start a fire and they'd curl up on the  
couch together and he'd tell her stories about Ilya Muromets or Dobrynya  
Nikitich or Alyosha Popovich." Kitty sighed. "I liked hearing about them,  
too. Peter was a good story teller." Kitty paused for a few moments, lost in  
memory. Her teammates waited patiently. She sighed again and shook  
herself back to the present. "Solovey Razboynik – Nightingale the Robber  
– was a villain from those stories, a man who could kill with a  shout."
 
 Scott nodded. "Emma and mine's sparring partner is a match on  
that… Did any of these stories give you a clue about who could have  
brought back Peter?"
 
 Kitty shook her head. "I'm afraid not. After finding out about  
Myedvyed Tsar and Solovey I really needed to eat and crash. Today I've  
been busy with my teaching duties, but I plan on hitting the 'Net again  
after we wrap up here." 
 
 Emma shifted slightly. "It is hard to believe that we're facing  
things from out of fairy tales." 
 
 "I could call up the Avengers Mansion, see if Thor's around. You  
could talk to him and get his opinion on the plausibility of legendary  
beings," Hank wisecracked. Emma shot him a dirty look. Scott patted her  
on the thigh.
 
 "Hank has a point, Emma. The Norse and Greek gods exist – "
 
 "Yup," Logan broke in. "Back in the day, Kitty and me and the rest  
of the X-Men and New Mutants visited Asgard. Faced off against Loki  
himself." 
 
 "…And if Thor and Asgard exists, I have no problem in believing  
in Russian bear kings and supernatural bandits." 
 
 Emma sighed. "A good point, but I still find this disconcerting.  
And does knowing what they are really help our position any?"
 
 Scott shrugged. "At least we have an idea of what we're facing.  
It's better to know something than remain ignorant."
 
 "A sentiment after my own heart," commented Hank. At that 
moment  Scott's beeper buzzed. He looked down at it, read its text message 
and  scowled. 
 
 "That's the War Room's computer. I'm having it monitor for  
unusual activity and it's just picked up a news report. Someone check  
CNN." Hank obliged, snagging a remote from the table with his foot,  
flipping it in the air, catching it in his hand, clicked on the big screen  
TV 
by the picture windows. 
 
 On screen, people were screaming, running in terror. Skeletons  
rampaged through a narrow street running up a steep hill. They were  
shooting off energy muskets, turning over cars, rampaging through  
buildings. An on-the-scene reporter frantically narrated the action. "They  
appeared ten minutes ago and started attacking! San Francisco authorities  
have been helpless to stop them! National Guard units are being scrambled  
and the Avengers – " A crimson figure leapt from a group of skeletons  
rushing up the street. It was Solovey. He walked straight towards the  
camera, smiling his shark's grin, his saber resting casually on his  
shoulder. 
He stopped fifteen feet away, waved at the camera, opened his  mouth and 
screamed. The X-Men winced at the piercing sound that channeled  
through. The images on the TV burst into static. 
 
 "Oh my stars and garters," murmured Hank. 
 
 "Looks like Petey has upped the stakes," growled Logan. A sick,  
almost frightened expression flashed across Kitty's face while Emma  
looked on sternly. Scott stood up, his countenance tight and stoic. 
 
 "Suit up people. It's time for round two…" 
 
 
 
 
 
    Feeling old and tired, Stephen Savin let out a sigh as  he stood in 
front of his house on Larkin Street. Today he had not enjoyed  his walk 
through Alice Marble Park as much as usual, and he could not put  his 
finger on the reason why. The tourists had been few and the day had been  
beautiful – sunny, cloudless and warm. Yet despite the weather and the  
relative quiet he had felt oddly oppressed, as if some imminent threat  
lurked nearby, waiting to strike. Perhaps age and solitude was finally  
catching up to him. Savin shrugged and unlocked his front door. A stiff  
drink of vodka and a perusal through the latest Addison and Associates  
Fine Art Catalogue would make him feel better. A number of fine pieces  
had caught his eye last quarter, and he hoped a few were still available,  
now that he had some discretionary cash. He opened his door, stepped into  
the foyer, closed and locked the door behind him.
 
 Savin was halfway down the hall to his study when he noticed the  
smell. He stopped, made a face and shook his head in annoyance. A rank,  
musky scent fouled the air. It reminded him of wet dogs. He looked about  
for the source of the offensive odor when he heard something ramble  
quickly down the stairs that led from the foyer to the second floor. A  
chilling shock, akin to being suddenly doused with ice water, slashed  
through him, and he spun around to face the foyer. 
 
 A wolf stared at him. It stood in the center of his foyer, peering  
back at him with golden eyes. It was huge, wide of shoulder, its head level  
with his waist. Black fur rippled across sleek, muscular haunches. Black  
lips peeled back to reveal yellowing teeth, gleaming sharply in the dim,  
afternoon light shining through the windows. It growled as a shudder ran  
over its body. Wet, popping sounds echoed down the hall as its front legs  
began to swell and twist. It's paws flattened out, the toes lengthening and  
spreading apart. The wolf rose up on its hind legs, standing upright like a  
man. 
 
 Savin screamed. He fled down the hall for the sanctuary of his  
study, moving as fast as his sixty-year old frame could go, screaming the  
entire way. He thought he heard the wolf howl, but was not sure. It was  
hard for him to hear over his screams, over the panicked blood roaring in  
his ears. He reached the study's door, flung it open, ran in, slammed it  
closed. He locked and braced himself against it, waiting for the wolf's  
charge and praying he could hold the door against its strength. A minute  
passed, then another. He heard something walking in the hall, nails  
clicking against the hardwood floor, panting and growling. The wolf paced  
in front of the door now - Savin knew it. His heart raced in his chest like  
a 
caged hummingbird, and he desperately needed to urinate. The wolf  
scratched at the door, raking its claws deep into the wood. Savin  
whimpered, trying hard to remember the prayers of his youth. He heard  
the wolf pad away. It howled, a great, piercing cry - fierce, monstrous, the  
sound of it cutting through his bones like a sword of ice, turning his  
marrow to water. Savin sobbed. "God save me," he whispered in Russian.  
"God save me." 
 
 "He can not save you, Stepan Ivashkaovich Savin," a deep voice  
rumbled behind him. "You are out of His hands, and caught tight in  mine."
 
 Savin froze stock still, becoming as immobile as iron statue. He  
closed his eyes, then slowly turned around, his motions jerky, as if he were  
being compelled against his will. He put his back to his door and opened  
his eyes. 
 
 A man sat behind his desk, leaning back in his patent leather chair.  
His shoulders were broad; his muscular arms swelled the blue, gold  
embroidered sleeves of his silken greatcoat almost to bursting. His large  
hands, gauntleted in leather, he held steepled before his massive chest. His  
head was covered in a blue hood and steel skullcap. A golden mask,  
wrought in the form of a smiling youth, concealed his face. Golden,  
pupiless eyes blazed in the mask's eyeholes, their merciless gaze pinning  
Savin in place, skewering him with a palpable force. The man inclined his  
head slightly in greeting, like a _boyar_ acknowledging his serf. "I am  
Nikolai Black Sun. I believe you know who my father is." 
 
 "Oh God," Savin whispered. He fell to his knees, holding his hands  
before him in supplication. 
 
 "I suggest you move," Nikolai said. "My friend is impatient to  
enter." The study door shivered, its top hinge tearing out of the jamb.  
Savin scrambled to one side on hands and knees. The door shivered again.  
Its lock sundered and it crashed to the floor in flinders. The wolf loped  
into the study, tongue lolling out of its mouth, its eyes fixed on the  
cowering Savin. It fell back on all fours, its limbs twisting as it returned  
to 
a quadruped state. Savin stared back and forth between the wolf and  
Nikolai, quivering, trying desperately not to unman himself. Nikolai stood  
up and walked around the desk to Savin, his hands resting on the hilts of  
the sheathed blades, broadsword and poniard, hooked to his silver buckled  
belt. He loomed over the old man, covering him with shadow, his gaze  
pitiless. 
 
 "Koschei," said Savin in a whispered stutter, "he is awake…"
 
 Nikolai nodded. "He has freed himself from the chains of banality  
that fettered him for nearly a century. Yet his imprisonment was not  
without profit. He has learned much, and now seeks the only sure promise  
all men receive from life…" Nikolai reached down, grabbed Savin by the  
collar of his shirt, and lifted him up into the air one-handed,  
effortlessly. 
Behind the mask Nikolai's golden eyes blazed. "Where is the  Patriarch's 
Crosier?" 
 
 "I do not know!" Savin gasped. Nikolai shook him once and he  
cried out in pain.
 
 "Do not dissemble, old man. We know it is in this city. We know  
that Dobrynski sent it to your father for safekeeping. We know that it is  
cloaked heavily against precise divination. I know that it is not in this  
house – I would have sensed it. Where is the Crosier?"
 
 "I do not know!" Nikolai shook him again and with his free hand  
took hold of Savin's right forefinger. 
 
 "I will kill you in inches," whispered Nikolai as he squeezed  
gently. Savin gasped, then screamed. 
 
 "I do not know!" he sobbed out a third time. "I swear by Christ I  
do not! Papa hid it somewhere in the city, beneath the streets. He never  
told me where!"
 
 "You are lying."
 
 "It is the truth! For God's sakes, it is the truth!" Nikolai stared  hard 
at the old man's face. It was flushed, tears running down his withered  
cheeks. The acrid scent of urine cloyed the air. Nikolai let go of Savin's  
fingers and dropped him. He scuttled into a corner and wept. 
 
 "What happens next," said Nikolai, "is on your father's head,  
Stepan Ivashkaovich." He turned on his heel and strode out of the study.  
The wolf padded towards the old man, licking its teeth, only to be checked  
when Nikolai called, "Danila, to me! Now!" It growled in frustrated  
hunger and ran quickly after its master. Savin stayed huddled in his corner,  
sobbing out prayers in Russian. "God save us from evil days. God save us  
from evil days…"
 
 Nikolai tore the front door of Savin's house out of its jamb, threw  
it aside, and stalked out onto the top of the stairs leading down to Larkin  
Street. The house rested on a large concrete foundation, so it would sit  
levelly on the sloping hill Larkin ran up, lifting it fifteen feet above  
street 
level. Nikolai leapt high into the air and landed in the center of  the 
street, 
making the ground tremble with the force of his impact. A rumble  like 
thunder echoed up and down Larkin. A horn blared and breaks shrieked as  
a car coming down the hill desperately tried to stop before hitting him.  
Without looking Nikolai lashed out. His gauntleted left fist sheared  
through hood, engine block and axle. The car began to flip over, front over  
tail. Nikolai turned, pushed out with the flat of his right hand, slapping  
it 
against the car's roof and forcing the vehicle back down on its wheels.  It 
lay inert, the front underside resting against the asphalt, oil and  fluids 
bleeding from it, its horn bugling sickly. Its air bags were blown  and its 
driver, a bruised young woman, hyperventilated behind the wheel.  Nikolai 
turned away from the car and started down Larkin towards Greenwich,  the 
wolf following after. 
 
 At the intersection of Larkin and Greenwich Nikolai halted.  
Pedestrians stopped to gawk at him and cars slowed down. The wolf 
joined  him.  Some of the gawkers turned and quickly walked away. Others 
began  to scream when it transformed from quadruped to biped. The 
transformation  continued further, the popping sounds made by his muscles 
and bones twisting  and reforming becoming louder. The wolf became a 
tall young man, svelte, his  tendons corded and prominent under the pale 
skin of his bare arms. His hair  was like a stack of black straw and his 
golden eyes were bright and wild. He  wore a wolf pelt for a shirt, doeskin 
breeches, and was barefoot. He looked  around wildly, growling, 
expressing his dislike of this foreign environment. 
 
 "What now, Elder Brother?" said Danila Volkevich.
 
 "Now we call the others," Nikolai answered. He looked up and 
down  Greenwich, turned around to look up Larkin and gestured sharply, 
throwing  out his right hand. Ten feet away a golden pillar of fire erupted, 
twisting  into the sky. It split open, forming a portal, and from it stepped 
Solovey,  Myedvyed Tsar and Vultariax, followed by a squad of _zalozhiny_ 
–  musketeers, swordsmen and axemen. 
 
 "Did you find the Crosier, my _knyaz_?" called out Solovey. Nikolai  
shook his head.

"Ivashka hid it and did not tell his son  where," he growled. "It 
could be located anywhere within San  Francisco."    
 
 "So what do we do?" demanded Myedvyed Tsar.
 
 "We go Cossack," Nikolai answered. "If I must burn this city 
down  in its entirety in order to find the Crosier, I will." Nikolai clenched 
his  fist. His eyes flashed red momentarily as the flames of the portal 
turned  crimson. Scummy red lights kindled in the hollow eye sockets of 
the  _zalozhiny_. Any of the unhallowed dead summoned through that portal 
now had  their perception tied to Nikolai - if any of them came close to the 
Crosier,  he would know. The sorcerer's son turned to survey the city 
before him. "Do  not kill unnecessarily, but let no one stand in your way. 
Find the Crosier."  The _zalozhiny_ hefted their weapons into the air, howled 
and scattered in  all directions. More of their kindred poured through the 
portal
 
 
 
 
 
 The Blackbird raced across the sky full throttle, the force of its  
speed pushing the X-Men back in their seats. 
 
 "If you keep this pace up, Scott, we're not going to be in any shape  
to take on Peter," Beast growled in protest.
 
 "And if we don't move quickly, he's going to tear all of San  
Francisco apart," Cyclops replied through gritted teeth. "We're there in  
five minutes. We'll be all right." 
 
 "At least until we land," commented Frost. She had shifted to her  
diamond form for comfort, and was watching a read-out of news and 
police  reports. "Peter's brought a small army with him. There are 
hundreds of those  skeletons rioting through the streets. If we are not 
careful, we could get  swamped."
 
 "What else is new?" muttered Wolverine. "Five o' us against an  
army of the walking dead… least it'll be a fair fight." He turned his head  
to look at Shadowcat. "You okay, kid?" She nodded. She had not said a  
word since they learned of Peter's latest assault. She clutched tightly at  
the 
armrests of her chair, her eyes closed and her lips pursed in a hard,  grim 
line as she girded herself for what lay ahead.  
 
 "We're here," Cyclops announced, easing off the throttle. Beast let  
out a sigh of relief. The Blackbird streaked over San Francisco Bay. The  
Bay Bridge passed beneath in a blur and they entered the boundaries of the  
sprawling city proper, heading towards Russian Hill. They made a swift  
pass over the area, Beast switching on the Blackbird's high-powered  
cameras. 
 
 The skeletons were everywhere, rampaging through the streets,  
overturning cars, invading houses and buildings, uprooting trees and  
shrubbery, pulling up manhole covers and crawling into the sewers. They  
steadfastly ignored the screaming civilian population fleeing them.  
Occasionally someone would attempt to defend their property or attacked  
the skeletons in fear or rage – such were dealt with quickly, usually in a  
non-lethal manner. The San Francisco Police Department, out-numbered 
and  out-gunned, made no attempts to engage the invaders, instead 
concentrating  their efforts on rescue and evacuation. Beast watched the 
pandemonium  playing out on his monitor and whistled. "These boys must 
be from Detroit –  the last time I saw such a wanton display of mindless 
violence was when the  Pistons won the NBA Championship earlier this 
year." 
 
 "Not quite mindless - they're spreading out through the city  
systematically," Frost murmured, "combing through every street and  
structure in sight. They're looking for something."
 
 "So are we," said Cyclops. "There's Peter. He's moving northwest,  
towards the Golden Gate Bridge. I'm bringing the Blackbird down ahead 
of  him. We'll try to cut him off. I'm betting our best chance of stopping 
this  will be by taking him down quick and hard." 
 
 "Easier said than done, Scott," Beast commented.
 
 "Perhaps, but I think we have an ace in the hole – Shadowcat, your  
top priority is to get to Peter. You affect him in a way the rest of us  
don't; 
maybe you can talk him down or force him into a retreat. We'll run  
interference against Solovey and the others, keep them off your back. Can  
you deal with this?" Shadowcat bit her lower lip and nodded. 
 
 "And what if Petey don't freak out as easy today?" Wolverine  
asked.
 
 "Then we do what we must to stop him," Cyclops answered 
grimly.  "Here we go." 
 
 Solovey glanced up at the sky and spotted the jet flying past low.  
"We have some visitors, my _knyaz_."
 
 Nikolai the Deathless watch the jet perform a vertical landing far  
down the street. "Heroes," he hissed. "The same ones we fought in New  
York… I know it." He clenched his right fist hard as his breathing turned  
harsh. His eyes momentarily flashed silver, then suddenly turned red. He  
swiveled south, staring hard down a side street. "The _zalozhiny_ have found  
the Crosier, a mile from here. It is shielded against them… Solovey, you  
and Vultariax take some _zalozhiny_. Go give our friends a warm reception.  
Myedvyed Tsar, Danila, with me." 
 
 Solovey's grin widened and he licked the flat of his saber. "With  
the greatest of pleasure, Prince of the Earth." He pointed at the Blackbird  
with his saber-tip and the _zalozhiny_ closest to him surged to attack.  
Vultariax shrieked and took flight, his massive, scintillating wings tolling  
like a cacophony of tower bells. Nikolai turned and headed south, the rest  
of his entourage fast on his heels.
 
 Frost was the first X-Man out of the Blackbird, her diamond form  
providing cover for her teammates. She screened the entry ramp as the  
first of the _zalozhiny_ musketeers came within range, dropped to one knee  
and opened fire. Frost crossed her arms before her face and chest and took  
the hits, the energy reflecting off of her polished skin. Cyclops stepped  
out 
next, stepping to one side of Frost and sweeping the street with an  optic 
blast, pulverizing the line of musketeers. He kept firing, destroying  groups 
of skeletons as a great wave of _zalozhiny_ charged. He could not  stop them 
all, but the rest of the X-Men were now out of the Blackbird and  ready. 
The mass of animated bone crashed into them and the close fighting  
began. The _zalozhiny_ were numerous, tireless and skilled, but ultimately  
no match for the X-Men. Frost smashed through them with double-fisted  
sledgehammer blows while Cyclops blasted them into shards of filthy  
bone. Wolverine was a howling whirlwind of adamantium claws. Beast 
and  Shadowcat danced amongst the unhallowed dead, downing them with 
power and  grace. In less than two minutes the horde was destroyed.
 
 Beast finished off the last two _zalozhiny_, cracking their skulls  
together, shattering them. He looked up the street and growled. "Heads up!  
Here comes the second wave, and they've brought some heavy guns." 
More  zalozhiny clattered towards them, moving in a straight line, 
clambering over  or knocking aside any obstacle in their path. Solovey 
spearheaded them,  running with prodigious speed, twirling his saber. To 
his right side and  fifteen feet up in the air flew the Metal Bird, the beat 
of 
his wings like  an amplified, discordant clashing of a thousand wind 
chimes. Cyclops moved  to the front of his team and opened fire with 
concentrated blasts directed  at Solovey. The bandit-troubadour dived 
under the first one, somersaulting  on the asphalt and allowing the blast to 
piledrive through the front ranks  of his un-living minions. The next two 
blasts he parried with flicks of his  saber. "Heroes!" he called out, "we 
come bearing your deaths!" The Metal  Bird landed beside him, 
straightened to his full height and unfurled his  wings. A coruscating 
spectrum of blinding colors blazed forth, drawing in  the X-Men's eyes, 
making their limbs sluggish and unresponsive. Frost, with  her well-trained 
mind, shook the mesmerism off in a mere second. She shifted  down to her 
human form and exerted her will to clear everyone of the  entrancing 
effect. The Metal Bird reared back its raptor's head, a great  snoring sound 
rumbling in its long throat, thrust its head forward and  belched forth a 
Technicolor yawn. The X-Men scattered, dodging the spray of  poisonous 
multi-chromatic vomit. Cyclops retaliated with an optic blast that  caught 
the Metal Bird flush in its chest and knocked it head over feet, onto  its 
stomach. Solovey let loose a short scream. The sonic wave washed over  
Cyclops, Frost and Beast, knocking them to their knees, stunning them.  
Solovey charged, determined to kill first the man and woman who had  
humiliated him in New York.      
 
 Shadowcat watched Solovey run towards her teammates, his saber  
raised to strike. Suddenly the sick fear gripping her vanished, and in its  
place an outraged anger kindled, enflaming her entire being. Her face  
flushed, her nostrils flared, her golden-brown eyes narrowed into glittering  
slits. Teeth bared she rushed Solovey. The blond swordsman spotted her,  
slid to a halt, directed a scream at her. Shadowcat dove and phased into the  
street, the sonic blast roaring above her ineffectually. Solovey started –  
he 
had not seen this aspect of Shadowcat's powers – and then she reappeared,  
flying at him. She struck him in the side of the face with a thrusting jump  
kick, knocking him on his back. She straddled him before he could  
recover, pinning him down, her left hand around his throat, her right hand  
raised back, fingers pointed.
 
 "What did you do to him?" she screamed at Solovey, the anger  
inside of her now a raging inferno. "What did you do to Piotr? Tell me,  
Solovey Razboynik, or I swear to God I'll do Ilya Muromets one better  
and rip out _both_ of your eyes!"
 
 Solovey grinned evilly at her. "So, you know of me. That is  
gratifying. For a German you are not completely uncultured." He surged  
and kicked Shadowcat off, sending her flying over his head. She rolled  
and landed gracefully. Solovey kipped to his feet, turned to face her,  
settling into an on-guard stance, his saber pointed at her. "As for the  
knyaz, we did nothing more than settle him into his rightful destiny." He  
slashed out at Shadowcat's neck.
 
 Vultariax got to his feet with a metallic clatter, cursing and  hissing, 
then spotted Wolverine rushing him. Wolverine threw an uppercut,  
attempting to eviscerate the demon. Vultariax dodged the claws then  
lashed downwards with an oversized fist. Wolverine flipped out of the  
way. The Canadian mutant paused for a moment, taking fresh stock of the  
abomination. He smiled wickedly.
 
 "Gotta admit, you're one of the weirder specimens I've had the  
displeasure a' meetin', and I've seen some doozies. So what fairy tale did  
you crawl out of, bub?" 
 
 Vultariax hissed in anger. "I am no native of this miserable reality.  
I am Vultariax, a demon of Chaos. I am a mercenary, paid for my services  
by the Black Sun, and I take my plunder in blood and souls!" His head  
lashed out, curved beak snapping at Wolverine. He dodged aside and  
countered, his claws slashing across the side of the beak, gouging the  
metal. Vultariax shrieked, more from outrage than pain.
 
 "Mercenary, huh?" said Wolverine, his smile growing larger. "I've  
done a spell o' that. Hope Petey's giving you medical coverage – you're  
gonna need it." Wolverine threw himself at the demon.
 
 Shadowcat dodged Solovey's first slash, phased through his 
second  pass and countered with a straight punch. He hard blocked it aside, 
riposted  with a sword punch and a sweeping low kick, both of which 
Shadowcat evaded.  _Damn, he's good_, she thought. She launched a flurry 
of punches, trying to  get in past Solovey's guard, but he avoided them all. 
Solovey prepared a  thrust, but with a curse leapt back as a tightly focused 
optic blast  separated the two combatants. He parried a second blast and 
leapt back  further. Shadowcat turned her head and saw Cyclops back on 
his feet, waving  furiously at her to go. "Remember your objective, 
Shadowcat! Find Peter.  Emma, Beast, go with her. Wolverine and I will 
deal with the situation  here!" He fired another blast at Solovey. Shadowcat 
nodded and started  running away from the battle, Beast and Frost speeding 
after her.
 
 "_Zalozhiny_! Do not let them pass. Keep them from the _knyaz_!"  
Solovey screamed as he barely ducked a fourth optic blast. He let loose a  
sonic shout. Cyclops rolled out of its way. 
 
 Nikolai the Deathless walked towards the line of _zalozhiny_  
standing at attention. They had cleared the street, sending all of its  
residents in flight south towards Cow Hollow and Pacific Heights.  They
parted for Nikolai. He strode pass them, Danila and Myedvyed  
Tsar at his flanks. He surveyed the street, his eyes raking across the  
pavement, and nodded to himself. 
 
 "It is here, underground, somewhere within the next half-mile. It is  
shielded – nothing I can not breach." Nikolai turned and looked back up  
the street; the sound of musket fire echoed back to them. Myedvyed Tsar  
growled, rising up on his hind legs, towered twelve feet high. 
 
 "I smell them," he grumbled, teeth bared, froth dripping from his  
muzzle. "The cat-ape and that slip of a girl…"
 
 "These heroes are damnably persistent," muttered Nikolai. "Take  
Danila and keep them off my back. I will not be long." He struck the  
street, his punch booming like a thunderclap, shattering a hole down to the  
tunnels below. He punched again, widening the hole, then jumped down.  
Myedvyed Tsar dropped on all fours and ran eagerly towards the melee,  
Danila Volkevich and the _zalozhiny_ racing after him.
 
  Shadowcat, Frost and Beast rushed down a side street, the last  
place they had spotted Peter heading before they exited the Blackbird.  
Knots of zalozhiny attempted to stop them, but proved ineffectual.  
Shadowcat ignored them, passing through them in her ephemeral state,  
while Beast and Frost cleaned up as quickly as they could behind. 
 
 Shadowcat skidded to a halt, watching a new horde of attackers  
making a beeline for her, Myedvyed Tsar in the lead, moving with  
incredible speed for a creature so massive. Grimacing, she waited until the  
massive ursine was almost on top of her, then phased down through the  
pavement. With a roar, Tsar tried to lumber to a stop and ran straight into  
a right hook thrown by Frost. Tsar staggered, got punched again, dropped  
on his side and rolled away. He rose up on his hind legs, shaking his head.  
His wits cleared and his pig eyes focused on Frost. She posed before him  
arrogantly, her eyes narrowed slits, her lips pursed in a contemptuous  
sneer. Myedvyed Tsar roared and waded toward her, dropping down to 
crush  her beneath his claws. 
 
 Shadowcat pulled herself out of the pavement, in time to be  
surrounded by a dozen _zalozhiny_, with more coming. She swore to herself  
– she could phase through them, but she didn't want Frost and Beast  
overrun while they dealt with the Bear King. An axeman stepped up from  
behind and attempted to brain her. Shadowcat sidestepped, caught the  
skeleton's arm and flipped him into two of his brethren. The other  
_zalozhiny_ screamed and attacked. She dodged, twisted, phased and  
countered, taking them down as fast as she could, but she was in dire  
threat of being pulled down herself by sheer weight of numbers. Then out  
of the corner of her eye she spotted a bulky blue form hurl through the air.  
The Beast landed feet first on a musketeer taking aim at Shadowcat,  
crushing him. A swordsman cut at him with a downward strike, but he  
dodged it easily and knocked the skeleton's head off with an uppercut any  
heavyweight contender would kill for. Two more _zalozhiny_ tried to cut  
him down from behind and he sundered both at once with a spinning heel  
kick. 
 
 "Get going, Shadowcat," Beast ordered. "Let Emma and me handle  
this." Shadowcat nodded, kicked a _zalozhiny_ out of her way and ran out of  
the melee. A young man in wolf skin moved to intercept her. He was fast,  
faster than she was, and attempted to shoulder tackle her. In mid air his  
features writhed and elongated; he transformed into a humanoid wolf,  
jaws opened wide and slavering. Shadowcat gasped, surprised by the  
transformation, but only for a split-second. She phased and the wolfen  
passed through her, somersaulted and was swiftly on his feet, growling at  
her. Before he could attack again the Beast jumped onto him, grappling  
him, taking him down to the pavement. They rolled about, the wolfen  
howling and yelping, Beast swearing. Shadowcat hesitated for a moment  
then ran from the fight, focusing her mind on the task of finding Peter. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Nikolai Black Sun walked along the tunnel slowly, turning his  
head side to side, his golden eyes glowing in the murk. He sniffed  
carefully at the stagnant air, stretched out with his sorcerous perception.  
The Crosier was close at hand. He was practically on top of it. He paused,  
took a few steps forward, paused again, looking first at the left wall of  
the 
tunnel, then the right, his large hands clenching and unclenching. He  
strode to the left wall and punched it. The section he struck crumbled,  
revealing a hidden compartment. From it he pulled out a staff, five feet  
long. It was made of pure silver, carved vines of ivy twining up and down  
its length. Nikolai examined it carefully, running his fingers along its  
length. On the top of the staff a screw slot had been hollowed out. Nikolai  
nodded to himself, unstrung a small pouch from his belt and opened it. He  
slipped the end of the staff into the pouch and thrust it down. Incredibly,  
the pouch swallowed it entirely. He shook the pouch once and retied it to  
his belt.
 
 "Peter…"
 
 Nikolai turned at the sound of that voice – a soft soprano murmur.  
There stood the young woman from the museum, her delicate face pale 
and  ineffable, her eyes shimmering with fear, sorrow and determination.  
Nikolai's own eyes narrowed. Something empty within him yawned open. 
A  sense of familiarity began to suffuse his being. His eyes flared from 
gold  to silver, and the swelling recognition vanished, was forgotten. All he 
saw  now was an enemy, waiting to be slain…
 
 "So," Nikolai rumbled. "You have managed to get past my  
_druzhina_." 
 
 "Piotr," Shadowcat said again. She held out a hand in entreaty. "I  
don't want to fight with you. Talk to me, please." 
 
 "Is your memory a sieve? I told you before, I know of no Piotr. I  
am Nikolai Black Sun, and we have nothing to discuss." He advanced on  
her, his silver eyes bright behind his mask. 
 
 _Oh shit_, Shadowcat thought, going intangible as Nikolai struck out  
at her, throwing a blistering straight left that cracked the air. It hissed  
through her. Nikolai followed up with a right hook. She ducked  
underneath it, caught the sleeve of his coat, turned on her heel and threw  
him. Nikolai rolled in the air, landed on his feet with ease and lashed out  
with a back thrust kick, Shadowcat barely skipping back out of its way.  
She frowned fiercely. Wolverine had been right - Peter was a far better  
fighter now than he had been previously. She stepped in towards him,  
hammered him in the chest with a lightening fast sequence of punches.  
She would have fared better punching concrete. Nikolai grunted in  
annoyance and slashed her with a forearm shiver. She phased through the  
attack and jumped away, falling into a ready stance. Nikolai did not press,  
instead letting his arms fall to his sides and assumed a deceptively relaxed  
posture. Shadowcat was not fooled. She watched him warily, waiting for  
his next move.
 
 "It's a stalemate, Peter," she said, slightly breathless from their  
brief but intense exchange. "I can't hurt you, and you can't touch me.  
Please, there's a better way than this. Talk to me." 
 
 Nikolai did not answer. He took hold of the hilt of his broadsword  
and drew it, the steel blade rasping free of the hard leather scabbard with  
an ominous hiss. He cut a figure-eight pattern in the air, handling the  
sword with talented finesse. He held it on guard before him and his silver  
eyes flared brighter. "My father forged this sword long ago. It cuts both  
flesh and spirit. Let us see how well you fair against it." He stepped  
forward, raising the sword over his head and slashed down at  Shadowcat.
 
 "Damn it!" she swore, dodging. The sword crashed against the  
concrete floor, cracking it. Nikolai struck again, with a horizontal swing.  
Shadowcat ducked beneath it, felt the blade clip off the tip of her  
ponytail. 
She grimaced violently. Her heart was pounding and she felt fear's  cold 
hands grasp at her throat. She knew she should retreat – whatever had  
happened between her and Peter at the Met didn't seem to want to put on  
an encore now. She wasn't a match for him, not without resorting to  
something drastic, and he could kill her with that sword. Hell, he didn't  
even need the sword to hurt her; he was fast enough that he could  
eventually catch her in phase with a barehanded strike, and that would be  
the end. She spun away from a backhand stroke, the tip of Nikolai's  
broadsword missing her by the thickness of her skin. Her common sense  
was screaming at her to get out of here and go get help. She refused to  
listen, refused to run. Somewhere, buried deep inside, Nikolai – Piotr –  
knew her, remembered her. She would not stop until she managed to call  
those hidden memories forth, even if the effort cost her life. Peter was her  
friend, and more… she owed it to him, owed it to her self, to try. 
 
 Nikolai cut at Shadowcat's head then struck at her legs. She  
ducked the first blow, leapt away from the second. Nikolai growled, his  
patience wearing thin. He circled his illusive opponent, searching for a gap  
in her formidable defenses. His silver eyes narrowed suddenly into slits  
and he lunged with a skewering thrust. Shadowcat stepped into his lunge,  
slapping his wrist aside and striking up at his chin with her palm. She  
connected, jarring his mask so that it pushed up, covering his eyes. Nikolai  
hissed and fell back. Suddenly he stomped down hard with his foot and the  
tunnel shook as if in the throes of an earthquake. Shadowcat gasped,  
surprised by the shockwave, lost her footing and fell down, cracking the  
back of her head against the ground. Lights exploded before her eyes. Her  
fighting instincts howled at her, urging her to get up and away, but her  
limbs would not respond. Her vision cleared and she saw Nikolai's blade  
arcing down at her head.
 
 "The Devil take it!" roared Nikolai as he wrenched his mask from  
his face and hurled it aside. He spotted his opponent down, stunned by his  
shockwave. Hissing in triumph, he stepped towards her, sword raised, and  
swung down at her head, determined to dispatch her and rid himself of this  
bothersome foe. But in mid-stroke his arm spasmed; something roared in  
his mind. His face twisted and he turned aside his attack. His sword bit  
deep into concrete, missing the young woman's ear by a mere inch. She  
screwed her eyes shut, turned her head, shuddered, and looked back up at  
Nikolai. She was breathing heavily, and he could smell fear wafting from  
her body. Something fluttered in his chest. His throat began to clench, and  
it became difficult to breathe. He stared deep into her gold-brown eyes and  
a strange heat coursed through his body. In his mind he felt a barrier he  
had been unaware of wrench open. He remembered the visions, the ones  
that had came to him in New York, haunted him when he tried to meditate  
in the fire cavern. He gasped harshly and stepped back, trembling head to  
foot. 
 
 Shadowcat stared up at Nikolai. His mask was gone. The black,  
curving thorn tattoos were stark against his pale face. He was breathing  
heavily, harshly. His limbs shivered. He shook his head and stepped away  
from her. A deep groan escaped his lips. Shadowcat sat up, continued to  
watch him. Nikolai's shoulders started to shake and he groaned again.  
With his free hand he pushed off his steel skullcap, threw back his blue  
hood, freeing his mane of jet-black hair. He shook his head sharply, closed  
his silver eyes. He opened them and stared hard at Shadowcat. His eyes  
were golden, and they swiftly darkened to a familiar, deep blue. 
 
 "Piotr…" Shadowcat whispered, unsteadily getting up to her feet.  
Nikolai shook his head and stepped further away, his face contorted in a  
strange, peculiar look of fearful longing. 
 
 "Who are you?" he rasped out. "Who are you, that you can make 
me  feel this way, shattered and empty, turning my strength into weakness? 
I  know you… I do not know how, but I know you. Your name is… is… 
what is your  name?" 
 
 "You know it, Peter," Shadowcat whispered. "I'm Kitty… Katya." 
 
 Nikolai closed his eyes again as the visions raced through his  
mind, renewed and more potent than ever. The young woman burned 
across  his thought, slender and beautiful, glorious in her joy for life. And 
there,  almost as prominent, was the blond girl, who he now sensed was of 
his blood.  Memories of her as a teenager and as a young girl, barely more 
than a  handful of summers old, flashed before him. Others visions 
clamored for his  attention – a beautiful dark-skinned woman with silken 
white hair and  cat-like, azure eyes; a man, somewhat older than he; with 
the body of a  devil and the heart of an angel; a short man, gruff of temper 
and powerfully  built… 
 
 Nikolai's eyes snapped open. They shone bright gold. He threw  
back his head and screamed, just as he did at the Met, venting loose a cry  
of uncomprehending sorrow and loss. He crouched and jumped, plowing 
up  through the street, nearly caving in the tunnel. Shadowcat staggered 
back,  regained her footing, then phased and chased after her fleeing, 
tormented  friend, her face etched into a mask of resolve. This time she 
would not let  him get away.
 
 
 
 
 
 His grin pain-wracked, Wolverine threw himself at Vultariax.  
Theirs had been a running battle, Wolverine and Cyclops moving to join  
up with their teammates, while Solovey, Vultariax and the _zalozhiny_  
fought hard to stop them. Cyclops and Wolverine had succeeded in finding  
Beast and Frost, but not without cost. Wolverine had been hit numerous  
times. Half of his cowl had been ripped away and his face was a bloody  
mess. Earlier Vultariax had managed to bite into him, his beak tearing  
deep into Wolverine's shoulder. The Chaos Demon was in no better shape,  
his metallic body scored in dozens of places, his wounds dripping strange,  
spectrum-shifting ichor. Out of the corner of his eye Wolverine spotted  
Cyclops - a long, shallow cut running across his chest, his left arm  
hanging limply, numbed from a sword punch – blasting away at Solovey.  
The bandit-troubadour's nose bled profusely, and his crimson costume 
was  in shreds. Myedvyed Tsar had Frost caught in a rib-crushing hug. 
Frost  hammered at his shoulders, trying to force him to drop her, but he 
refused  to relent. Slowly but surely, her breath was being squeezed out. 
Beast  sparred with Peter's new henchman, the wolfen, who constantly 
shifted form  from biped to quadruped, using whatever form was at the 
moment most  advantageous. Both combatants were evenly matched – 
neither had yet managed  to score a serious wound. All the _zalozhiny_ in the 
area were destroyed,  but Wolverine knew more would come. They needed 
to finish this fight soon. 
 
  Wolverine dodged a sledgehammer blow and rolled under  
Vultariax's snapping beak. "Time ta put you ta bed!" The Canadian 
mutant  struck up with both fists, his claws impaling the Chaos Demon, 
piercing up  through Vultariax's stomach, under his ribs and thrusting deep 
into his  heart cavity. Vultariax reared back his head and screamed, multi-
colored  bile gushing from the corners of his mouth. Wolverine yanked free 
his claws  and stepped to the side as Vultariax fell like a lumbered 
redwood. 
 
 Suddenly the ground quaked and a section of the street the battle  
raged on exploded, sending chunks of asphalt spraying everywhere.  
Wolverine threw up his arm to shield his face. Then he spotted Nikolai  
rushing towards him, falling through the air, his broadsword held over his  
head with both hands, the steel blade flashing with the afternoon sunlight. 
 
 "OH SHIT!" Wolverine roared, trying to leap away, but was too  
late. Nikolai hit the pavement with a thunderous crash, simultaneously  
striking down and cutting Wolverine open from sternum to groin.  
Wolverine screamed and toppled back, rendered unconscious by the shock  
to his system. 
 
 "The game is over, heroes!" Nikolai shouted. He turned towards  
Cyclops, who had just winged Solovey with an optic blast. Nikolai struck  
the street hard with his sword, projecting a wave of force at the X-Men's  
leader that knocked him off of his feet, sent him flying back into the wall  
of a tenement. He bounced off and lay on his stomach, stunned. Nikolai  
pivoted, facing down the street, and gestured. Twenty feet away a golden  
pillar of flame ignited, spiraling high above the surrounding buildings. "I  
have the Crosier! Time to go!" Nikolai grabbed the inert form of Vultariax  
by the base of his neck, hefting the massive body with ease, and hurled  
him underhanded into the column. The fire roared higher and the Chaos  
Demon vanished. Myedvyed Tsar raised Frost over his head, dashed her to  
the ground. Danila Volkevich dropped kicked the Beast, turned fully  
lupine, and dashed for the pillar. He and the great ursine reached it at the  
same time and teleported out. Next came Solovey, limping as fast as he  
could, swearing under his panting breath. Nikolai shook the blood off of  
his sword, sheathed it, strode towards his gate. Half way to the fire he  
jerked to a stop, his left foot pinned to the ground. He looked down and  
saw Shadowcat, half-phased through the street, her arms wrapped around  
his muscular leg, her face set in a look of ferocious determination. Nikolai  
stared at her, his golden eyes momentarily darkening to blue. Silver filmed  
over them. He blinked and his eyes were gold again. He raised his left fist,  
hesitated, then brought it crashing down. Shadowcat released him and  
phased back through the street in plenty of time to escape the strike. 
 
 Nikolai straightened up and was suddenly struck in the back by an  
optic blast. Off-balance and unawares, he was sent sprawling. He  
attempted to rise and was blasted further across the street. Nikolai tore a  
chunk of pavement loose and threw it at Cyclops. Cyclops folded himself  
backwards, lost his footing and fell on his back. The missile screamed  
over him and exploded like a grenade against a parked car, tearing out a  
headlight and the grill. Nikolai got to his feet, attempted to jump and  
found himself unable to move, Shadowcat again grabbing hold of his leg.  
Again he hesitated before trying to kick her with his free foot,  
telegraphing his attack and allowing her the opportunity to evade. He  
heard an ear-splitting howl and turned in time to see Wolverine - his  
eviscerating wound healed - charging him, moving with the speed of a  
bullet. Before Nikolai could react he was raked across the face, the chest,  
felt Wolverine punch him in both knees, shattering his kneecaps and  
severing the ligaments. Nikolai screamed in agony, fell on his butchered  
knees. He struck Wolverine with a straight punch, generating enough force  
to knock the X-Man far down the street. Nikolai's wounds ignited,  
knitting magically shut in gouts of golden flame. He reeled up drunkenly  
and was punched in the back of the head by Frost. He staggered away 
from  her, turned around and into a punch across the jaw. Frost threw a 
third  punch. Nikolai caught this one, his large hand wrapping around 
Frost's  slender wrist. He punched her in the stomach; she doubled over, 
gasping, and  he threw her out of his way. Cyclops knocked him down with 
an optic blast.  Nikolai struck at the ground, directing a shock wave at 
Cyclops, who dodged.  Nikolai got up, tried for the pillar again, and again 
was caught in phase by  Shadowcat. As he turned to deal with her she let 
go and slipped away, just  as Wolverine ran past behind him. Adamantium 
claws flashed and Nikolai  dropped to his knees a second time, hamstrung. 
An optic blast drilled him  square between the shoulders, drove him down 
onto his face. He roared in  outrage and pushed himself up, throwing 
himself into the air by the strength  of his arms alone. His wounds blazed 
closed and he landed gracefully on his  feet. Cyclops blasted him in the 
chest and Wolverine followed up with a  flurry of claws. Nikolai reeled. 
 
 _Scott, Logan, Pryde, keep dog-piling him. Hank has an idea._  
Emma Frost finished her telepathic projection and turned to the Beast  
wearily. "Are you sure about this, Beast?"
 
 "Hey, I figure if it worked on an ionicly powered madman, it  
should work against a sorcerously empowered one."
 
 "I'm not the Vision, Hank."
 
 "True, but Peter ain't Nefaria, either. We got him rocked, but we  
need something big to put him down, and this is the best way I can come  
up with on short notice. Now we got to do this quick before he decides to  
stop trying to get away and goes on a serious offensive. Are you ready?" 
 
 Frost grimaced. She was not looking forward to this. Though she  
knew the effort was futile, she reached out again telepathically, searching  
for some chink in Peter's mental defenses. She found nothing. Whatever  
was cloaking his mind, it was well beyond the grasp of her formidable  
psionic abilities. She sighed. "All right, I'm ready."
 
 Beast nodded. He squatted, taking hold of Frost by the back of her  
costume and one of her ankles. He steadily watched the battle rampaging  
nearby, carefully gauging the distance. He looked up at Frost then back at  
the fight. Unexpectedly, he smirked. "Anyone ever tell you that you have  
a nice ass, Emma?"
 
 "Yes. Scott has. Several times, in fact. Now will you please stop  
ogling it and get this over with?" 
 
 "All right. Alllley OOP!" The Beast gritted his teeth, surged up with  
a yell and threw Frost high in the air with all the might he could muster,  
staggering back as he watched Frost fly a hundred feet into the air. Her  
ascent began to slow and she started to arc. As she descended she  
transformed into her diamond form. She dove down headfirst gracefully,  
her fists extended out in front of her, aiming herself straight for Nikolai. 
 
 Nikolai slammed Wolverine aside with a back fist, crossed his arms  
to block an optic blast and grunted when Cyclops redirected his aim,  
shooting under Nikolai's guard and blasting him in the stomach. He  
doubled over slightly, started to reach for his sword. As powerful as he  
was, he was swiftly being worn down. The zmei blood that flowed in his  
veins quickly healed his wounds, but could not stave off his growing  
fatigue. He had to stop holding back. Since he started these raids into the  
mortal world on his father's orders, for reasons he could not articulate, he  
had tried to keep bloodshed to a minimum, commanding his henchmen  
strenuously not to kill. Now this hazily understood scruple was costing  
him dearly. He dragged his sword half-free, then paused. His fighting  
instincts were warning him of something. He looked up and saw a  
glittering form hurtling down at him. Frost rammed into Nikolai, striking  
him in the chest and driving him down into the pavement with the force of  
a high yield tactical bomb. The street cratered and for a hundred yards all  
around every piece of intact glass shattered. The X-Men froze, stunned by  
the violence of the hit, then converged on the crater. The pillar of golden  
flame guttered and vanished. 
 
 Frost got up groggily, staggered out of the crater. Nikolai was flat  
on his back, struggling to rise. He coughed, vomited golden blood and fell  
slack, his eyes closing shut, his wounds steaming as they slowly healed.  
Frost shifted back to her human form. Her legs gave out and she dropped.  
Cyclops caught her before she hit the pavement. Shadowcat ran to  
Nikolai's side. She knelt by him, touched his neck. His pulse was strong  
and his breathing was regular, if a trifle shallow. She sighed in relief.  
Wolverine watched everything, taking in deep breaths through his nose.  
He relaxed his hands, allowing his claws to sheathe. Beast stood at the  
edge of the crater, scratching the back of his head. He looked carefully at  
each of his teammates, one after the other. He grinned, a little crazily.  
"Hot diggity damn… we got him…"     


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